


a new fun fair

by 1001cranes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha knows best, Alternate Universe, Bite rape, M/M, Pack Dynamics, sour wolf, what am I doing with my life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:49:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001cranes/pseuds/1001cranes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of ficlets set in alternate universes centered around Peter Hale & Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where Stiles Asks the Right Question

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saucery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/gifts).



> This is Saucery's fault. Entirely.
> 
>  
> 
> title from example's 'change the way you kissed me'

Between the first time Peter asks and the second, something in Stiles's head just clicks. Like all the rapidly scrambling thoughts in his head, whirling around and about and upside down, suddenly snapped into perfect focus. A sudden clarity. Sense from the nonsense, if you will. Stiles's arena is usually the nonsense, but every so often something floats to the top and wiggles its way out of his traitorous mouth.

"Why are you asking me?" he blurts out, and watches Peter still, as if he's considering that very question. "I mean," he continues, and oh god, _traitorous mouth_ , why are you giving Peter reason to reconsider? "You didn't ask Scott if he wanted it. You didn't ask the nurse. Why ask me?"

Incredibly, Peter's grin grows even wider. That is a scary amount of teeth; Stiles suddenly sees the Hale family resemblance. It's all in the jawline, and it's really, really frightening. 

"Now," Peter says. "You're asking the right question," and his thumb is stroking the inside of Stiles's wrist, over his rapidly beating pulse. "So I'll ask you again, Stiles. Me. Peter Hale. The Alpha of my current band of werewolf misfits. Asking you. Do you want the bite?"

And there it is. Clarity. A really frightening bout of clarity, actually, because not only does this moment make sense, but a lot of the moments before it - a lot of the things Peter has been doing - not just Lydia, but Scott's mom _oh my god_.

"I would never have hurt her," Peter reassures him, and apparently Stiles is back to saying all this thoughts out loud. Thumb still lazily stroking the inside of Stiles's wrist, and how weird is it that Stiles actually finds that soothing right now. "I know how important she is to you. And Scott."

"So you..." and Stiles actually isn't even sure what he was going to say, there, but Peter seems to know.

"Yes," he says, and wow, they've totally gotten closer in the last few minutes. Stiles is pretty sure he wasn't this close to Lydia all night. "You, Stiles."

"Huh." He's pretty sure that no one's ever done anything for him before - even if it was creepy stalking. No one's ever chosen him. Not unless there was no other choice. Like when your boyfriend breaks up with you, or half the lacrosse team gets put on academic probation. No one picks Stiles right out the gate. No one _chooses_ Stiles. 

So this is how it feels to be Jackson all the time. No wonder he's an asshat.

After a moment, Peter sighs. Steps back. His hand still like a vise on Stiles's wrist. "As much as I regret cutting this conversation short, I have to go rescue my nephew. So I'll --"

"Yes," Stiles says, and wow, maybe he should have let Peter finish the sentence, or hey, maybe he really should think over the consequences of being Peter's werewolf child bride, but Stiles doesn't really _do_ consequences. It's part of his theoretical charm. "Yes," he says again, whole body throbbing in time with the pulse in his wrist, and Peter's smile is brilliant, bright. Fanged.


	2. The One Where Peter Really Isn't the Bad Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this premise - Once Peter killed Kate, the Argents and the Hales fell into an uneasy truce; Peter was done with killing, and the Argents seemed to realize taking on an angry clan of werewolves that consisted mostly of angsty teenagers was not in their best interests. Stiles is the unwitting den mother.
> 
>  
> 
> I really enjoy oblivious!Stiles, apparently.

"I would just like to make it very clear," Stiles says calmly, "that I still find this to be really, really weird."

"Your weirdness is noted," Scott says absently. "Now pass me the chips."

Stiles scowls. "No one ever listens. Also? No more chips for you." Stiles starts to take the bag with him into the kitchen, doing his best to ignore Scott's puppy dog eyes, which were honestly pretty impressive _before_ his transformation. Stiles taught him everything he knows. "I'm pretty sure you haven't had a vegetable all week, and we've totally talked about this. Growing werewolves need their veggies." 

"Chips are vegetables! Potatoes are vegetables!"

"Not really," Lydia says idly, and it's nice that there's someone sort of in Stiles's corner, even if she never bothers to look up from painting her nails. "What's for dinner anyway?"

Stiles resists the urge to throw his hands up in the air in pure, unadulterated exasperation. Then he does it anyway. "Oh my god, does _no one_ read the chalkboard? Why do we have the chalkboard if no one reads it?"

"Didn't you buy the chalkboard?" Scott asks, already re-immersed in the TV screen. 

"The chalkboard _serves a purpose_. That purpose is to tell you what's for dinner, and what we need to buy at the grocery store. Embrace the chalkboard, wolf clan. Embrace it." Stiles sighs. "And we're having chicken, okay, an _unbelievable_ amount of chicken, and rice pilaf, and brussel sprouts, and the rest of last night's garlic bread if no one got the waxing moon munchies last night."

"I think Derek ate it."

Of _course_ he did.

"And what about if _I_ want chips?" Jackson finally asks, affronted, and Stiles clearly has no choice but to whirl back around and throw the bag at his chest. 

Of course the douchebag - which, Jackson is part of Pack Hale and all now, but he's definitely still a douchebag, it's probably coded in his DNA - catches it. 

"Can't say I really care if you stunt your growth," Stiles admits, his own petty revenge, and Allison turns to hide her smile in Scott's shoulder. "I'm going to make dinner!" he announces to the room at large. "Which is _on the chalkboard_ , if anyone cares." 

"We care," Allison says, and of course the only other non-werewolf in the room is the one who gets it. "Thanks Stiles!" 

That prompts a raggedy round of "yeah, thanks Stiles" that actually goes go a long way towards soothing his hurt feelings and his overall severe case of the wiggins. Because his _life_ is a perpetual case of the wiggins. Because this? Is not how he thought his life was going to end up. Not when he found out Scott was a werewolf, and certainly not once they found out Peter Hale was the Alpha. But as it turned out, Peter really _wasn't_ the bad guy. Like, morally dubious, sure, but then again so was Batman. If Batman were a werewolf, he'd probably be a lot like - no, he'd totally be like Derek, but Peter would sort of be in the ballpark. Like a younger, hotter, slightly more psychotic Alfred. Or maybe Catwoman. Cat... man. Slinky. But mildly emotionally disturbed.

"Okayyyyy," Stiles says, and lets his head rest against the door to a kitchen, just a for a second. He thinks about hitting it against the wall, briefly, but Derek does that to him on an often enough basis; it doesn't seem prudent to do it on his own time.

He pushes open the door to the kitchen. Derek and Peter, leaning against either side of the island countertop, both swing around to look at him in one eerily coordinated motion. The kitchen is silent - fraught with the kind of tension that means Stiles _totally_ just walked in on very serious pack business, damn his timing to hell. 

"Uh. Did I interrupt something?" he asks, and slow-walks to the refrigerator. Back very carefully to the wall.

Derek growls at the same time Peter says "no" - like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "That's really clears things up, guys, thanks."

"Derek was going for a run," Peter says, and his tone is pleasant enough, but there's a thread underneath that even Stiles recognizes as _Alpha_.

Derek growls again. "I have a point."

"Of course you do," Peter counters. "It's just not an _important_ one."

This time the growl is even closer to a roar. Derek definitely tends towards the non-verbal, but this is pushing it. Stiles watches, careful, at the bright-blue flicker of Derek's eyes. It wouldn't be the first time someone transformed and threw down in the house, but he _just_ properly fixed up the kitchen.

"The situation with the Argents is tenacious enough. If you bring the Sheriff into it --"

" _Outside_ ," Peter snaps, and Derek _slams_ out the door, barely more than a dark blur, and Stiles lets out a breath he barely realized he was holding. He's tempted to make a "bad dog" joke, but - no. He likes his head attached to his shoulders.

"Sorry about that," Peter continues, and it takes Stiles a minute to realize Peter is apologizing to _him_. "You know how Derek's temper gets the better of him."

"Not my business," Stiles says quickly. He's the low man on the totem pole here; he gets that. Mainly because he's still a _man_. Peter's the werewolf in charge, and Derek is second in command, but quite possibly only because of his age; Stiles somehow thinks that Lydia will be moving up the ranks quickly. Jackson is handling being a werewolf great, the same way he does pretty much everything, and Scott seems to have finally accepted it, which - thank _God_ , Stiles can only take so many 3am texts when he really, really needs to be sleeping. He's a growing boy.

"Of course it's your business," Peter says, pleasant, and Stiles knows this much about werewolves, it's the _pleasant_ tones you have to watch out for. "Who else's business would it be?"

Stiles actually... doesn't know what to say to that. He settles for opening the fridge and pulling out what will be tonight's dinner - pounds and pounds and _pounds_ of marinating chicken, he tries not to think about how many chickens gave their lives for this meal, seriously; and the brussel sprouts. Butter. Lemon juice. 

"Need any help?" Peter asks, already rolling up his sleeves. 

"Uh. Cut the brussel sprouts in half?" Why does everything come out of his mouth like a question these days? It's not like Peter is _his_ Alpha; he doesn't need Peter's approval. 

Stiles rifles through the spice rack, and watches Peter from the corner of his eye. Though it's not that he doesn't _trust_ Peter, or anything like that, because as far as he can tell Peter is a damned good Alpha. Peter rebuilt the old Hale House and he opened it up to all the little wolflings, any time they want to come over; he's teaching them how to control their urges and their transformations; and he's footing the grocery bill while it happens, which Stiles probably appreciates more than anyone else, since he's the one who does the grocery shopping. Seriously, the amount of red meat they go through in a month would make a nutritionist weep. Every time Stiles walks into the local butcher shop, he feels like a VIP.

Peter, though - Peter just seems _charmed_. Maybe it's the Alpha magnetism, or something, because it seems like Peter has nearly the same kind of effect on humans as he does on werewolves. And he doesn't look - forty, or however old he actually is. Is he younger than Stiles thinks, or is it good genes, or does being a werewolf mean you get to be forever young? 

Great, now he has that song stuck in his head.

"Soooooo," Stiles begins, because the only sounds in the room are the blare of the TV from the other room, and the clink of the knife on the cutting board. Basically the opposite of anything good for his nerves. "Now we've established it's, apparently, my business, should I be worried about whatever you guys were arguing about? New hunters in town? New werewolves? Vampires? Witches? What is the universe throwing at me now? Because I have to tell you, my GPA was finally starting to tick back up." It's amazing how much easy homework is when you don't fear for your life.

"Derek and I were just having a little discussion about pack structure."

"Oh. Ohhhhh." Well, that could definitely make Derek even more of a sour wolf than usual. "Lydia getting the upgrade sooner than expected?" Cause if it's Jackson, Stiles just _quits_. Right now. 

"Not Lydia," Peter says, serene, and how does he _do_ that? Slinky zen master vibe. It doesn't even make sense. "You," Peter continues, "if you want," and Stiles just - stops. 

"We're not talking about the bite again?" he asks cautiously. "Because... I thought we'd resolved that. Not happening." Not in a million years, not happening. Stiles is good with being human, he's good _at_ being human, and having coached Scott through it, and kind of Jackson and Lydia, really, he - he knows he couldn't handle it. Not well enough. He's not made of the werewolf stuff. He has a weird sort of urge to scream for Derek, since it seems like Derek is also on Team Human Stiles? But Peter is the _Alpha_ , if he wanted to he could just -

"Hey," Peter says, and oh my god, _Peter's hands on his face_ , Stiles is totally marked for death. "Calm down, Stiles - _calm down_ , I'm not going to bite you." And okay, breathing is good, Stiles is fond of breathing. "Not unless you want me to," Peter tacks on, and Stiles flings his head back and forth. Thanks but _no thanks_. "Then I won't," Peter says, reasonably, and behind them someone coughs.

"Uh," Scott says. "Stiles smelled - panicky? So...?"

"Fine," Stiles wheezes out. "You know me - jumping to all the wrong conclusions." Although how many wrong conclusions _could there be_ , with Peter's hands still on his face.

"Great. Good. Uhm. We're gonna go - " Scott jerks his thumb over his shoulder and flees back into the living room. Jackson raises an eyebrow before following, and Lydia looks positively _gleeful_. God, there is something wrong with that girl, and Stiles is not talking about the lycanthropy.

"So," Stiles says, and tries to ignore the way one of Peter's hand has slipped to his neck. "No biting. Not of the - werewolf variety."

"No," Peter says, and he's definitely stroking the side of Stiles's neck, now, what is he, a _vampire_ werewolf? "You're pack because you belong, Stiles. You can be pack and be human. Plenty of my family was."

"And you never..." Stiles swallows. "That was okay?" Like, really okay, not just 'we tolerate Aunt Ginny because she's family - and also has all the money' okay. 

"More than okay. It makes you... you. Doesn't it?"

"I like to think so." Stiles the spazzy human fills a weird sort of niche. Stiles the spazzy werewolf would probably have to be put down for his own good. "It's what I _am_."

"I know," Peter says. "Very, very human. And - mine?"

Okay, that last part sort of sounded like a question.

"Yours?" Stiles parrots back, and Peter's tongue flicks out and over his lips. Maybe the quickest flash of fang. "Yours, like - _yours_ ," and wow, _wow_ , is Derek's foul mood suddenly a lot more clear. Stiles is about to become his new step-aunt. 

" _Yes_ ," Peter hisses, and okay, definitely a flare of Alpha there. Like the heat in the room suddenly ratcheted up ten degrees. Stiles is braced up against the counter, bracketed in, and the red flare of Peter's eyes pins him to the spot. Like - like lasers, like motion-sensitive lasers, and Stiles is the only thing in this room still alive enough to move, god rest those poor chicken's souls.

"Oh," he says, struck dumb, practically mute, because when there's something worth saying he's no good at it. He can never think under pressure. "Me, really?"

"Stiles," Peter says, exasperated, just the edge of threat, and it's weird, right, that it turns Stiles on a little? "Who else would it be?" He makes it sound like an inevitability, but a good one - not that he didn't have a choice, but that who else would he choose? "Humans _can_ be pack, but do you think I'd let just anyone into my home? Rearrange my den? Take care of my _cubs_?" and oh fuck, there was a kink Stiles did _not_ know he had. "You're loyal, and you're smart, and you faced down an Alpha to save your idiot best friend," and normally Stiles would take more offense to this, but Peter had said 'idiot' with the same kind of affection Stiles does, and it's not exactly _un_ true - plus, Peter's hands are migrating further and further south, and consequently, so it Stiles's IQ. "What else could I _want_?" and every word rings incredibly, solidly true. 

"Me," Stiles says softly, one more time, just because - he's grasping at Peter's shoulders, now, because his knees are weak with shock and arousal and a teeny tiny bit of fading confusion. "Totally human me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as I explained to Saucery, in a world where Peter isn't the bad guy - he and Derek fix up the Hale house, and Derek obviously cares NOTHING for creature comforts, Peter gets some of the basics, but it's Stiles who comes in and is like "seriously? Couch. Comfy chairs. An Xbox with many, many controllers, and lots of snack foods for all the hungry growing beta werewolves. What is _wrong_ with you people" and of course he does all the grocery shopping - "yes, lots of red meat, you staggeringly voracious carnivores, but for god's sake, eat some broccoli" - and Peter becomes unwittingly charmed.


	3. The One Where Peter Doesn't Take No For An Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what it says on the box, kids
> 
> some dialogue lifted directly from Code Breaker

"Do you want the bite?" Peter asks. Conversationally. Like nothing. The way you'd offer someone _gum_.

"What?" Stiles says, because - yeah, because _what other reaction_ is there.

"Do you want - the bite?" Peter repeats, like Stiles didn't hear him the first time. Which is not the problem here, Stiles totally heard, he just doesn't _understand_. "If it doesn't kill you, and it might... you'll become like us."

"A werewolf?" Stiles says, which - "Yes, duh, a werewolf, never mind me, I -" and he gulps, audibly, when Peter steps closer.

"That first night in the woods? I took Scott because I needed a new pack. It could just as easily have been you," Peter explains, and wow, he totally has that 'come here little kids, into the van, I have some candy' voice _down_. "It could be you now," he says, and takes Stiles's wrist in his hand. Brings it to his mouth. "Yes or no, Stiles?"

And there's an undercurrent in his voice, something that's - Alpha, or maybe just werewolf, Stiles doesn't know. Maybe it's just Peter, there's a thought. Just naturally dangerous.

The slow stretch of his fangs as he bends his head towards Stiles's wrist -

 _Fuck_. Stiles snatches his hand back, even as the look on Peter's face slips back into calm control, rage buried just beneath the surface. And sweet _Jesus fuck_ , as a matter of fact, because that was a hell of a lot closer than he ever wanted Peter's fangs near a major vein.

"I don't wanna be like you," he says, and tries to ignore the way he's shaking, a little, in his good dress shoes.

Peter tilts his head for a moment. Like he's taking Stiles in - deciding whether to rip his head off, maybe. Play a bit of basketball with it. "Hm. You know what I heard just now? Your heart beating slightly faster over the words _I don't want_. You might believe that you're telling me the truth, but you are lying to yourself, Stiles." After a moment, he grins. Slightly too sharp. "And you can't lie to _me_ ," Peter hisses, and almost quicker than Stiles can see - certainly quicker than he can do anything about - Peter grabs him.

Bites him.

 _Bites_ him, and holy shit, but it hurts more than Stiles would have imagined. He broke his collarbone once - okay, twice, really, he was a clumsy child, does this surprise anyone? - and you'd think a bone would be worse, but this... it feels like someone shoved a red hot poked through his wrist and then twisted. And on top of that, he thinks, semi-hysterically - _on top of that_ Peter is _licking_ his wrist. Licking it. With... a slightly too long tongue, okay, Stiles can't focus right now or he might go entirely insane.

"That was _so_ not cool," he whines once he gets his breath back, because why should he shut up now. "No means no, goddamn it." He's definitely bitter. His father was very clear on that point. "You can't take this back, you know! No returning me to the store, or telling the kids that Fluffy ran away. This is for keeps."

"That was the idea."

"You are a truly twisted individual," Stiles says, and he cannot stop staring at Peter's tongue flicking over his wrist what is _wrong_ with him. He yanks his wrist away - again, oh, look at how well that went the first time.

"Well, I wasn't going to call you Fluffy..." Peter says, and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You've uh, got a little something right there. Like a _little bit of my blood_."

"Mm." There was the tongue again. He really just needed to - stop, with that. Stiles makes a quiet whimpering sound that quickly morphs into a shriek when Peter stepped back towards him - going for Stiles's throat, like he hasn't done _enough_ -

"What are you doing _now_?" he yells, and strangles, more quietly, when Peter reaches up to undo his tie and pull it from around his neck.

"You're going to be human for a while yet," Peter says matter-of-factly. "It wouldn't do for you to bleed out and die on me before you turn."

And there it goes: Stiles's tie wrapped around his bloody, werewolf-bitten wrist. Like a weird metaphor for his life.

"I cannot believe you," Stiles mutters. "Seriously, the tie. _The tie_. On top of everything - "

"You're mad about the tie?" Peter asks, amusement coming through clearly. "On top of everything."

"Yes!" Stiles snaps, because hello, the tie is just the last straw in a looooong laundry list of shit werewolves have done to him lately. "I am done," he announces, and watches the amusement slide right off Peter's face. "I am done with this _shit_. I am done with the throwing against walls and chasing me through the woods and trying to kill me and _biting_ me without permission and the - the _disrespect_ , okay, fuck _this_ , I am not going to continue my existence as the community _chew toy_ ," and Stiles is breathing hard, halfway to a panic attack, when Peter's hand comes up around his throat, and just - presses.

"Stiles," he says, very seriously, the same Very Serious Voice he used when he explained why Stiles was going to come with him into the middle of woods and find Derek for him, so Stiles decides that paying attention is probably in his best interests. "Who do you think is going to throw a werewolf against a wall? Or try to chase you through the woods? Or _bite_ you?"

"Other werewolves?" Stiles says weakly, because - okay, that's one way of looking at it he didn't really think about.

Peter growls. "Only the ones you _let_ ," and somehow that falls somewhere between a threat and promise. The grip Peter has on his throat loosens, but his palm still sits, warm, between Stiles's collarbones.

"Uhm," Stiles says, and - just - "Derek?" he finally manages to spit out. "Werewolf rescue time?"

Peter blinks once, twice. Like coming out of some kind of trance. "Of course," he says, and his hand finally drops. "You should get to the hospital. Check on your packmate."

"Get my _wound cleaned_."

Peter waves one hand dismissively. "It's not that kind of infection."

"Great," Stiles mutters under his breath. "Werewolf or _death_."

"My money's on werewolf," Peter says mildly, and Stiles is still not used to having people with freaky bat ears around him all the time. "You get a certain... _feel_ for these things."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence. Don't suppose you could unbend my keys?"

Peter raises an eyebrow.

" _Great_."

"And Stiles?" Wow, look at that, Peter is really close again all of a sudden, and doing that creepy looming thing. Is that a werewolf trait? Is Stiles going to start doing that? It would probably alarm his dad, is all he's saying. "When it comes to other werewolves, an Alpha does what he wants" - and those are some big, freaky werewolf teeth right next to his head, god _damn_ but Stiles is going to have those too - " _when_ he wants" - the barest hint of pressure against the side of his neck and his wrists _throbs_ \- "just something to keep in mind" - and Stiles's knees are suddenly feeling pretty rubbery. Even after Peter speeds away towards the Hale House.

Stiles pulls himself up. Freakish new werewolf problems later. First Lydia, then Derek, then whoever else might need rescuing. That might be his niche, he thinks suddenly. _Werewolf superhero_ echoing all around his head as he starts to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next one is... porn. I'd apologize, but I don't think anyone's sorry.


End file.
